Faster, Higher, Stronger
by Alexandra Lyman
Summary: Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven is considered the best hope for the tiny European country to win their first ever medal at the Summer Olympics, but due to security concerns her parents have sent her to Rio with two ex-British Special Forces private bodyguards, Liam and Killian Jones.
1. Chapter 1

**A little two-part Olympic themed AU since that's all I've been watching for the last week! Note - I don't know how the Olympic archery competition actually works in terms of scoring, etc, I'm just making it fit the fic and not really aiming for accuracy (no pun intended).**

* * *

 _ **Citius, Altius, Fortius**_

 **Faster, Higher, Stronger**

The holding area underneath the stadium was packed, athletes, coaches and officials all milling about in their Opening Ceremony uniforms. Rio 2016 was about to begin, and the Parade of Nations was all lined up and ready to go.

Crown Princess Emma of Misthaven stood at the head of her delegation. A small principality tucked between Switzerland and Germany, they were not known for their prowess at the Summer Games. A few of her countrymen competed on the World Cup ski circuit and they had three Olympic medals in downhill racing, one bronze and two silvers, but no one had ever won gold.

The flagpole was smooth in her hands, the Misthaven standard wrapped securely around it. Emma shuffled forward as the delegation from Mexico just ahead started to move. There was over a hundred of them, in stark contrast to the four athletes who stood just behind her. None of them were considered medal favourites in their disciplines, the only one who stood a chance of bringing home victory and Olympic glory was _her._

"No pressure," she muttered under her breath.

"Doing all right there, Your Highness?"

Emma forced herself to smile, turning towards the voice. It belonged to Liam Jones, one of her two new bodyguards. A former member of British Special Forces, he had gone into private security work with his brother, her other bodyguard. Security at Rio had been a concern since the Games had been awarded to the Brazilian city, and Emma was no ordinary athlete. They were dressed up as officials, but they'd been specially hired by her parents to accompany her to the Games.

"I'm fine, thanks."

Mexico moved forward again and she could see the light at the end of the tunnel, growing larger as they approached. Each country was being announced to thunderous cheers, and soon it would be their turn to enter the stadium and greet the world.

"Dammit!"

The strap that held the flag rolled shut refused to open, it was just a simple snap closure but her fingers were shaking with sudden nerves. Emma had been photographed for Vogue magazine multiple times, her birthday was a national holiday and her first major heartbreak had been front-page fodder for all the trashy European tabloids for weeks, but this was different. Being a princess wouldn't matter one damn bit in competition, she would win or lose strictly on her own merits. It was exhilarating...and terrifying all at the same time.

"Here. Let me."

A large hand filled her vision and the next thing she knew the strap was open. Emma glanced up and met the blue eyes of Killian Jones, standing so close that they were almost touching. He slipped his hand back into his pocket and winked, "After you, Princess."

There was no time to even say thank you because Mexico was out of the tunnel and the two stagehands on either side of it were frantically signalling her to go. Killian took a step back as she hefted the pole and the flag unfurled, her family's ancient crest splashed across the middle of it.

"MISTHAVEN!"

It flew against the open air of the sky above and Emma felt like she was flying too, her feet scarcely touching the ground as she led her delegation into the stadium. But even though it was the happiest moment of her life she still felt a pang in her chest, a twinge of disappointment that her family was not in the stands cheering her on. They had wanted to come, but the security issues with having both the sovereign and the heir attend the Games had proved impossible to overcome. Still, she knew they were watching at home, her father had texted her a picture of them sitting on the couch in their pyjamas with a big bowl of popcorn and miniature Misthaven flags.

 _Good luck, honey! We're with you in spirit!_

She smiled into the TV cameras, not her practiced, closed-mouth smile for official photos and appearances, but the big, toothy grin that was saved for private moments like catching her mom raiding the big fridge in the palace kitchen at midnight or the drives around their country estate in the battered old pickup truck her dad refused to get rid of even though he was a prince by marriage now. Emma waved the flag higher and watched it snap and ripple in the wind.

 _Mom, Dad, this is for you._

...

The sun had yet to rise when they arrived at the practice facility located far from the action taking place closer to downtown. Emma hopped out of the SUV with a ballcap pulled low on her forehead and immediately went to the rear of the car to retrieve her gear. Only to be beaten by Killian, who already had the back open and was eyeing the large bags.

"Don't worry, I wasn't going to touch anything. I assume you're probably picky about how your equipment is handled."

"Yeah," Emma said, relieved that she didn't have to spell it out for him. She slung one bag over her shoulder and grasped the other by the handles.

"I'm happy to assist-"

"I don't believe in treating bodyguards like personal assistants," she interrupted him, "It's not your job to carry my shit around for me."

Surprise flashed across his face, "You're the first client who has ever said that."

Graham appeared on his other side and reached around him to grab his own bag, "Ready, Emma?"

Her coach had been unable to attend the opening ceremony with her thanks to a snafu with his credentials being mixed up with someone else's, but everything had been straightened out and they were ready to get started on their last few training sessions before the competition began. She saw Killian eye him with a bit of suspicion, she supposed it was part of his job to second guess everyone around her.

Liam insisted on going in first and Killian immediately fell into step at the rear. Emma had been a bit... _surprised_ when she'd first met the brothers back home before the Games, while Liam looked like every other ex-military man who'd moved into the private sector, haircut that was still regulation, perfect posture from years of standing at attention, Killian was...not. His hair was long, brushing his collar in the back, he slouched, shoulders back, hips tilted slightly forward and hand in his pocket.

Hand. Singular.

A one handed bodyguard seemed like a joke, but Jones Brothers Security had been highly recommended to her parents and their clients were among the richest and most famous people in the world. She didn't know how he had lost his left hand, she assumed it happened in the service. Iraq, Afghanistan, she knew what went on in the world. Her future role as sovereign was largely ceremonial, but she was well schooled in international politics. Killian wore a high tech prosthetic on his wrist and he managed so well that she stopped noticing it most of the time.

After doing a sweep of the area Liam cleared them to start training. He and his brother kept a respectful distance and made themselves as unobtrusive as they could, while Emma flipped open the specially made case that held her bow.

Archery was a solitary sport. The rest of the world faded away and there was nothing except her and the target in the distance. You either hit the bullseye or you didn't, there was no way around it. Emma quickly fell into the familiar rhythm, the tiny vibrations in the bow string while she pulled it taut against her cheek, the soft whistle when she let each arrow fly and the "thwack" when it hit the mark.

Graham made minute corrections to her form, hands on her hips to guide her into place and his arm over hers. He stepped back to make notes and Emma fixed her ponytail, smoothing back the strands that had come loose. She caught a glimpse of the Jones brothers, watching avidly. Liam gave her a smile and a thumbs up and she almost laughed, he seemed the more stoic of the two and she hadn't expected that. But Killian….

Killian Jones was _staring_ at her. His face was shadowed, but there was clearly heat in that gaze. He caught her watching and a lazy smile spread across his face, his thumb hooking in his belt while he rocked back on his heels. Emma felt her eyebrow lift, was he trying to come on to her? She was no stranger to getting hit on, but not usually at six o'clock in the morning while she was dressed in sweats and holding a deadly weapon.

The next shot she took was bang on, hitting the target right in the centre.

"Good form."

Emma looked over her shoulder while Graham frowned, "Please, no comments during practice, Mr. Jones."

"Sorry mate," Killian said, not sounding sorry at all, "Won't happen again."

He flashed her another smile that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine, one that she definitely hadn't felt for a while. But now was not the time for that, so she turned away from him and nocked another arrow. This was the Olympics, her lifelong dream and the chance to show the world that Crown Princess Emma was more than just a pretty face in a tiara on the cover of _Hello!_

...

She didn't make it past the qualifying round.

She missed the cutoff by two points, only the top sixteen finishers advanced to the final and she finished seventeenth.

Her dream was over before it began.

...

The rest of the day passed in a blur, the press conference, the calls from her parents. _"You made us so proud, sweetheart, you made the whole country proud."_ Which only made her want to lock herself in her room and hide under the covers like a small child. She wanted to hop the next flight back home but she couldn't slink away with her tail between her legs like she did after the disaster that was Neal.

 _Neal._

It was all _his_ fault. The lying bastard had seen a chance to milk their relationship for a quick buck again and given an interview to a British tabloid. Emma had only seen the headline when she'd been idly checking news on her iPad before dressing for the trip to the archery venue but it was too late, it was all dredged up again immediately. The hurt, the humiliation, the heartbreak of realizing that the man she'd fallen in love with was just using her, defrauding jewellers and boutiques out of thousands of dollars worth of goods by pretending it was for her. In reality he was selling everything online and when the promised publicity didn't materialize the whole house of cards came crashing down. He should have gone to jail for grand theft but he got off on a technicality, and the press had a field day with the whole story.

She thought it was behind her, she thought she was over Neal for good and he couldn't hurt her ever again.

Her hand had shook when she took her final shot.

Clearly, she was wrong.

"We're going drinking."

Killian looked up when she barged out of her bedroom and into the little living area that the Misthaven delegation shared at the Athlete's Village.

"Beg pardon, Your Highness?"

"I need to get drunk. I need to….I need to not be here right now and I can't go home, so I need to find a bar without any reporters or athletes and just get shitfaced. But obviously I can't go alone, so my bodyguards are coming with me. Where's Liam?"

His eyebrows were shot up practically to his hairline as he slowly put down the book he'd been reading, "He's on dinner break, won't be back for at least another hour."

"Then I guess it's just you and me."

Emma stared him down, daring him to say anything about how dangerous it was, how they needed to wait for his brother, or anything that would ignite the powder keg waiting inside her for that single spark to explode, but he only nodded once.

"As you wish."

...

The open air bar featured plastic tables and chairs, cold beer, and a scratchy radio that played samba music. They earned a few glances that had more to do with Killian's prosthetic hand than her, so it was perfect.

"So, why archery?"

Emma took a swig of her beer, some brand she'd never heard of but it was alcohol and that was all that mattered, while he sat back in his chair and gave her an expectant look.

"It's the national sport of Misthaven. Legend says that an archer won the heart of a princess by tying love notes to his arrows and firing them into a branch of the tree that grew outside her bedroom. They eloped, he became king when her father died, and _voila_. A new royal dynasty was formed."

"The House of Blanchard?" Killian guessed. Three white arrows were still displayed on her family's crest in honour of their supposed founder.

She tipped her beer to him, "You got it. They think now that it's just a local variation on the Robin Hood story and it never actually happened, but all the souvenir stores sell arrow necklaces and little toy bows and archery is taught in every Misthaven school."

"So you learned it in school, then?"

Emma frowned, picking at the edge of the beer label with her thumbnail, "Yes. Well, kind of. My mother actually taught it to me first. She's really good, better than I am. Competing in the Olympics was something she always wanted to do."

Crown Princess Mary Margaret had been training hard for the Los Angeles Games in 1984 when tragedy had struck the small country. Her father had suffered a massive stroke overnight that put him in a coma and her stepmother had tried to mount a military coup while he was incapacitated.

"It was before the Berlin Wall fell and Regina was trying to drum up support from East Germany and the other communist countries for a new dictatorship with herself installed as queen. By the time the dust settled from that and my grandfather died, there was the coronation and my parents' wedding to plan for and she didn't have time for Olympic-level training anymore."

She could feel his eyes on her while she talked, the beer in front of him sitting untouched as the empty bottles piled up on her side of the table. The sun had gone down but the heat had yet to abate, and beads of sweat rolled down between her breasts under the thin T-shirt she was wearing.

"Can I ask you something?"

He visibly tensed when she looked down at his arm, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal dark hair and a large tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

"Aye, love. Go on."

The endearment was horribly inappropriate but she ignored it since she was pretty sure they had crossed the line into inappropriate the second they left the Athlete's Village together in search of a bar, "Who's Milah on the tattoo?"

His fingertips brushed across the ink, soft as a caress that made her wonder what those fingers would feel like sliding across her skin.

"Someone from long ago. She's gone now."

There was an echo in his voice, the ghost of a sad past in those three words. _She's gone now._

Emma swiped his now-lukewarm beer and drank it in three swallows.

...

Killian didn't stop her when she drunkenly pushed him against a wall in the alley down the street from the bar and ran her hands down the front of his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest through the fabric. His hand settled on her hip, she couldn't tell if it was the real one or the prosthetic and she didn't care, not when the samba music matched the beat of her heart and the heat between them was not from the beer or the sultry Brazilian night.

"Would you kiss me if I asked you to?"

Her hand found his collar and gave a little tug, almost enough to bring their lips together.

Almost.

"I would _want_ to kiss you if you asked me to, Princess."

She wanted to ask.

She didn't.

...

Liam Jones took one look at them when they arrived back at Misthaven's suite in the Athlete's Village - Killian's arm around her waist to hold her upright - and disapproval practically rolled off him in waves.

"You're relieved for the night, brother. I'll take it from here."

She didn't want Killian to go, not when her head was spinning and she wanted nothing more than to lay it on his chest and just _sleep_. But it was Liam who brought her into the bedroom and knelt down to slip off her shoes, Liam who helped her into bed and turned off the light with a quiet, "Good night, Your Highness."

It was Liam who furiously berated Killian outside the closed bedroom door with, _"What the hell were you thinking?_ " and _"She's the bloody princess, not a potential shag!"_ and _"Were you trying to give me a heart attack or was that just a bonus?"_

It was Liam who knocked on her door in the morning with aspirin and coffee and shocking news from Graham. The Russian doping scandal had claimed another, the competitor who'd finished fifth in the qualifying round was now out and that meant...

That meant...

Emma was now in the final.


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, the Olympics are long over, but I haven't forgotten about this story! I will finish it off with another chapter after this one.**

* * *

He was an _idiot._

Liam clearly thought so, and his brother was right. It was supposed to be an easy job - accompany a rich, spoiled princess to the Olympics, stand around for two weeks while she competed (in _archery,_ of all things) and go home to London with a fat pay packet and a satisfied client.

Oh, he'd like to satisfy her, over and over again, and... _not now, Killian!_

He shifted in his seat and slouched down against Liam's sudden sideways glare, as if his brother knew exactly where his thoughts had just wandered.

Crown Princess Emma was in the back of the bulletproof SUV, her face shielded behind a large pair of sunglasses. Given the number of beers she had drunk the night before, she had to be hungover as hell and would probably prefer to be spending some quality time on the loo floor next to the toilet instead of driving along a pothole-filled road where every bump and swerve had her wincing behind the splashy designer frames. But there was no time to waste, she only had one day to prepare for her second chance at the gold medal. Killian thanked every deity he could think of that the men's qualifying round was scheduled for today and the women's final wasn't until tomorrow. At least that would give her _some_ time to recover from their ill-advised night out on the town before she had to take the field with the weight of an entire country's expectations on her shoulders.

"Where are we going? This isn't the same route we took the other day."

Liam glanced in the rearview mirror, hands tight on the wheel, "My apologies, Your Highness, but I got word that the practice field has been staked out by several reporters waiting for you. We had a backup ready in case there was any security issues with the official venue, so we're going there instead. I thought you'd prefer some privacy from the press right now."

"Oh," she said, biting her lip and sounding relieved, "Yes, thank you, Mr. Jones. But what about my coach, Graham?"

"I've already called him, he'll meet us there."

The princess nodded, turning her head to look out the window. Liam focused his attention back on the road and Killian was grateful for his brother's foresight in having the other practice field ready. He'd seen how devastated she was at the press conference held after she failed to advance in the first round, the press of photographers all snapping away trying to get the best shot of the tear rolling down her cheek. Bloody vultures, the lot of them, and the last thing she needed was to be bombarded with inane questions as soon as she stepped out of the car.

" _Are you afraid of letting your country down again, Your Highness?"_

" _Do you think you can come back from such a disappointing qualifier and make the podium?"_

" _Got anything to say about the interview your ex-boyfriend, Neal Cassidy, gave to the Daily Mail?"_

One of the other Misthaven athletes, a young, redheaded swimmer who had the bedroom next to Princess Emma's at the Athlete's Village, had clued him in about the article when they returned there after the press conference and she locked herself in her room. Her relationship with him had been detailed in the dossier he'd read before he actually met her in person, the facts laid out impersonally in a few short paragraphs. It had seemed unimportant then, her ex wasn't considered any kind of threat to her safety and he'd quickly moved on to the next section with the official Olympic schedule, but _now_ ….he'd seen the look on her face when she missed that last shot. It was shown up close on the large screen next to the field and then over and over again on the TVs that were scattered everywhere. _Princess Emma of Misthaven falters and fails to advance._ _Death knell to a dream of gold._ Her voice had trembled during the press conference when Neal's name was brought up, and Killian had felt a sharp pang of sympathy deep in his gut.

He'd also wanted to the punch the bastard right in the face. Even though he only had one hand, he still had a mean right hook.

The backup field was literally that, a field. Grassy and bordered by a dilapidated fence, next to a pasture where a few cows were grazing with their tails lazily swishing and flicking away flies. No fancy facilities like the official venues had, freshly-painted locker rooms, jacuzzis, saunas, but the princess only asked if there was the proper Olympic-sized targets available and on Liam's reassurance that there was, got out of the SUV without complaint.

"What do you need, Your Highness?"

They hadn't spoken since she'd had him pressed against a wall with her lips hovering so, so close to his, green eyes bright even in the darkness of the alley as she wondered, " _Would you kiss me if I asked you to?"_ He couldn't see her eyes now, they were still hidden behind her sunglasses as he popped open the hatch and gestured to the bags of equipment packed inside. He thought he saw the flicker of movement behind the glass, but she only pointed to one duffel and asked, "Would you bring that one, please, Mr. Jones?"

It wasn't his job to fetch and carry for her, but it wasn't his job to slide his hand over the curve of her hip and imagine what it would feel like to touch the skin that lay underneath the rough denim of her jeans either and he'd done that last night, so he carefully hefted the bag she wanted and followed along behind as Liam led the way to where everything was set up.

 _That_ was his job. Liam in front and him behind, following along whatever pop star or politician or rich businessman they'd been hired to guard. He'd followed Liam into the service as soon as he was old enough to enlist, followed him from post to post, into the highest levels of the Special Forces, into peacekeeping missions and warzones and secret assignments….until.

Until.

The prosthetic sat on his wrist, all titanium joints and space-age materials. He'd woken up in a military hospital with a shattered heart, a bandaged stump where his left hand had been and his brother at his bedside. Liam had followed him then, out of Pakistan to the rehab facility in the UK, out of the Special Forces when it became clear that what really happened was being swept under the rug and nothing would be done to avenge _her_ death, and finally, out of the service completely and into private security work. He owed his brother everything - he would have been court-martialed if it wasn't for Liam pulling every string he could with the top brass - so he hadn't said a word in his own defence when Liam had laid into him as soon as the door to the princess's bedroom swung shut and it was only the two of them left in the Misthaven team lounge. Of course taking her out to a dodgy bar was a stupid, reckless thing to do, he'd known that right from the moment when she stomped over to him in a T-shirt that hugged enticingly across her breasts with her blonde hair loose down her back and those tight jeans, declaring her intention to go out and get drunk. A proper bodyguard would have tried to reason with her and if that failed, brought a full security team and vetted the bar before letting her set foot in it, but he recognized the look in her eye. It was a look that said she was going to do it no matter what he said and he made the split second decision that it was better to accompany her and keep her safe than risk her sneaking out on her own while he waited for Liam to bring reinforcements.

Of course, Liam didn't see it that way. The back of his neck still burned from some of the more _colourful_ insults his brother had thrown at him.

A target was set up at the end of the field while she unpacked her bow. He had originally pictured something like the props from his fifth form production of _Robin Hood_ , but the thing was nearly as tall as she was and clearly much more complicated. She tested the string with a finger and adjusted the...settings? Tension? He didn't know the terminology, he was just supposed to be her bodyguard, not her coach. _That_ job was filled by the ruddy Irishman who was far too touchy-feely with her for Killian's taste, as well as tall, good-looking…

 _Whole._

He glanced away, staring into the distance at nothing for a long moment.

The _thwack_ of an arrow hitting the target brought him back to himself. Clearly, Princess Emma wasn't going to wait for Graham to show up before getting started. She let another fly, scowling when it landed much farther from the centre than the first one. Her shoulders flexed with the movement, long, toned arms on display in a sleeveless shirt. It obviously took considerable strength to handle the long bow, this wasn't like throwing darts in the pub. There was power behind each pull of the bowstring to her chin as she balanced the arrow and stared down at the target in the distance, strangely graceful and captivating to watch. Or maybe that was just her.

Another arrow missed altogether and Killian saw her go absolutely still. He felt himself tense, wondering if she was going to cry or scream or fling the bow away like a javelin, but she only rolled her shoulders and fired another. It hit, but so close to the edge it just barely hung on. These were clearly not gold medal shots, she was shooting worse than she had in the qualifier. Killian noticed the sweat on her forehead and remembered there was a cooler with bottled water and Gatorade in the back of the SUV. He quickly jogged over and snagged one of each, bringing both out to her on the field and offering them with a silent question in the raise of his brow.

"Water, please."

Since she clearly couldn't open it and hold the bow at the same time he nestled the Gatorade on the grass and gripped the water bottle in his prosthetic, twisting the cap off with his hand. Most people couldn't help but gawk whenever he used the contraption, but Crown Princess Emma only thanked him and took the bottle with her fingers brushing his, tipping her head back and downing half in one swallow.

"If you're still feeling poorly after last night-"

"No," she interrupted, "It's not that, it's just…"

He could feel Liam's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head but he shifted closer and lowered his voice, "What, love?"

She had taken off the sunglasses when she started shooting so he could see her eyes now, red-rimmed and looking dull and defeated, "He's back in my head."

Killian didn't need to ask who "he" was, her ex and his money grab of an interview was the obvious culprit. Emma wiped her brow with the back of her hand and her shoulders slumped, defeat written all over her face.

"I know a thing or two about that."

"Yeah?" she said. Her American accent when speaking English had struck him as odd at first but in retrospect it made sense, her father was American, after all. Then plain David Nolan, he had been on a backpacking trip through Europe when a young woman stole his wallet. Only she wasn't a petty thief, she was the exiled Crown Princess Mary Margaret of Misthaven, cut off from her bank accounts by her stepmother and trying to get the money to return home and reclaim her throne. They famously fell in love while he helped her sneak back over the border, and quickly married in a lavish wedding that rivalled Prince Charles and Lady Di's several years prior.

"So, how do you deal with the people in your head, Mr. Jones?"

Milah's face flashed in his mind, followed quickly by her husband's. Liam had warned him that getting involved with the young wife of a high-ranking elder in the village near the military base where they were stationed in Pakistan was a bad idea, but he didn't listen. They were in love, and she was going to leave her husband and come back with him to the UK when his tour of duty was complete.

Her husband had gathered several of his male relatives and ambushed them just outside of the fence that surrounded the base. A few steps more and they would have been safely inside the gate, the soldiers on guard duty had come running at the screams but they were too late to stop Milah's husband and his cousins from holding him down and cutting off his hand while she was forced to watch. They fled with her still screaming his name as he passed out from the blood loss and shock, and by the time he woke up she was dead.

They called it an honour killing in the official reports.

He insisted it was murder.

Either way, it ended his career in the military.

"Killian?"

Princess Emma switched to his first name, looking at him with concern. She was as unlike Milah as any woman could possibly be, rich, famous, _literally_ royalty, and she was the first woman since Milah who had made him think of more than just a one night stand or a quick fling. But, like Milah, she was supposed to be strictly off-limits.

" _Would you kiss me if I asked you to?"_

"Don't do it to show up Neal Cassidy."

The sound of her ex-boyfriend's name made her face go perfectly still and shuttered, as if a door had suddenly slammed shut between them. It was a look that dared him to continue, and he was very aware that one wrong word could see him and Liam both fired and blacklisted in the rarefied circles she travelled in. But Killian Jones was no coward, and he took a step closer.

"Don't do it for your mother, or even your country. Do it for yourself, Emma."

It was a shocking breach of protocol to call her by her first name, but in for a penny, in for a pound.

She frowned, a line appearing between her brows, "But...everyone's counting on me."

"Everyone's counting on Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess. Forget about her and just be Emma."

The wind stirred the wisps of hair that were escaping from her messy braid. She glanced down the empty field at the target.

"The last time I tried to just be Emma...it didn't go so well."

Killian could still feel Liam's eyes on them and knew he was going to hear about this later, but he didn't care. "The last time I was just Killian, I had two hands. Now there's a lot of whispering and staring wherever I go."

He saw the flush rise in her cheeks as her eyes flicked to his wrist and back away again. She'd obviously noticed it, but unlike most of their clients she hadn't said a word about the prosthetic, smoothly shaking his right hand when they were first introduced with a simple, " _It's nice to meet you, Mr. Jones."_

"But….last night, I felt like just Killian again."

It hung in the air between them for a long moment, like the freeze-frame they kept showing on the TV of her arrows in flight.

"Need I remind you-"

"Don't start, Liam," he interrupted, standing next to his brother while Princess Emma lifted the bow and drew the string back to her cheek.

"What you did was incredibly dumb and reckless, and I haven't forgotten what happened the last time you were dumb and reckless, brother."

He felt the anger well up in his chest as his voice dropped to a low hiss, "This _isn't_ Pakistan."

Liam stepped in front of him, blocking his view with his taller frame and putting a hand on his shoulder, "No, it's not. But you know damn well that you can't let yourself get personally involved and do your job at the same time."

Killian felt both his hand and his prosthetic clench, "It's not personal."

"Right," Liam said with a sigh, rolling his eyes. The sudden _thwack_ of the arrow hitting the target made them both turn to look. Emma lowered the bow and he saw the tiny smile at the edge of her lips.

Bullseye.


End file.
